Supernatural College
by Covinskey
Summary: Dean heads off to college, planning to at least try for a semester. Will he be at odds with his eccentric roommate or will they become friends? Rated T for some language.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Moving In**

Are you sure about this Dean? Sam asked, sounding apprehensive. He adjusted his grip on the duffel bag and looked up at the collage critically. "I won't judge you if you want to back out now"

"Shut up, Sammy," retorted Dean, hiding his own uneasiness. Just because he hadn't decided to go to college until last minute and he didn't want to be a fancy lawyer didn't mean he was gonna flunk out. He had even gotten enough scholarships to almost cover tuition. He would be committed, at least for the first semester.

Dean and Sam made their way across the parking lot, both carrying bags. There was a desk set up with a dozen older students volunteering, handing out keys and pointing lost people in the right direction.

Dean stepped up in front of a pretty blonde girl. "Hey there," he said with a 'charming' grin, "Dean Winchester?"

"Um-hm," she said, searching through a box. "Winchester, Winchester, got it!"

She pulled out an envelope with the name "Dean Winchester" labeled on it. "Thanks," Dean said, casting an eye to her name tag, "Jo."

She gave him an unamused look and handed him the envelope. "Here's your welcome package, it's got your key, ID, and some rules and emergency procedures. You're in room (she checked the label) 412, the elevators are that way."

Dean thanked her with a wink. Sam rolled his eyes.

Following Jo's directions, Sam and Dean made their way down a crowded hall. Guys and girls were running this way and that, carrying boxes suitcases, duffel bags, even Tupperware. People were shouting, calling out, greeting old friends and making new ones. Dean led Sam through the chaos, checking room numbers. Room 412, that was it. The door was already open, propped by a box of books. Dean cast an appraising eye over the space. Two closets, and a pair of beds raised over desks. One desk was already covered in odds and ends, and above it a gangly teenager was wrestling with the fitted sheet.

"Um, hey?" asked Dean.

The boy turned his head. "Oh. Hello," he replied. He then swung his feet over the wooden edge and slipped to the ground, landing with a thump. Tilting his head faintly, he frowned at the brothers. "Are one of you my roommate?"

"Yeah," said Dean, "Me. I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam. He's helping me move in."

"Castiel," was the reply, and to Dean's surprise, he extended a hand.

"Oh, um, right," said Dean, shaking it awkwardly. The handshake gave him the chance to take Castiel in fully. He looked average, blue eyes, dark hair. He was tall, but still shorter than Dean or Sam, who admittedly was huge.

Likewise, Castiel sized Dean up as a future roommate, studying his green eyes, brown hair and serious expression. He was tall, a few inches taller than Cas, and athletically built. Castiel wondered vaguely if he participated in any sports.

"I guess this is my bed," Dean said, dropping Castiel's hand and slinging his duffle onto the empty desk.

"I assumed that as first to arrive I would have my choice," said Castiel, watching him.

"You mean first come, first served?" asked Dean.

"Yes," replied Castiel.

Dean nodded. "Alright," he sighed, realising he was now stuck with this guy for the rest of the year.

Sam nodded to Castiel with a tight smile, and threw the bag he had been carrying over their heads and onto Dean's bed. Dean turned to his brother.

"Well, unless you're gonna help unpack, I guess I'll see you later."

"Oh," said Sam, mildly surprised, "Um, alright then, yeah, see you… around."

He hesitated, unsure of whether or not he should hug goodbye. Finally clapping him on the shoulder, he nodded to Castiel and left.

Dean turned to Castiel and smiled. "He's a big fan of sappy goodbyes," he explained.

"I see," lied Castiel, who climbed back on his bed and resumed struggling with his sheets.

Dean turned his back and opened one of the duffel bags, and threw his handful of shirts and jeans unceremoniously into the drawer of his closet.

"What is your major, Dean?" asked Castiel in his gravelly voice. Dean glanced up. He was done with his sheet, and was now trying to shake a pillow into its case as he spoke.

"I don't have one," he admitted reluctantly, "I mean, I don't even know if I'm gonna stay or not."

"Then why come?" Castiel asked without accusation, although he was looking at the reluctant pillow as though it had mortally offended him.

"I dunno," replied Dean, taking the pillow and shaking it into its case in one snap. He glanced out the door as he tossed it back to Castiel. Some blonde girl was walking by. "The girls I guess."

Castiel didn't roll his eyes, that would be rude. He simply reflected on the stark differences between his new roommate and himself.

"I'm majoring in religious studies," he said dryly, even though he hadn't been asked.

"You're gonna be what, a preacher?" asked Dean, turning back around.

"No," said Castiel, and pointed to the blanket on his desk chair. "Can you pass me that?" When Dean complied, he continued, "I am not fit to lead any group of people, for any purpose, including religious ones."

"Ain't that right, little brother," drawled a voice from the doorway. Dean turned back around to see a short man leaning against the frame. His hair was a little longer than Sam's, and he was holding a lollipop in one hand.

"And you are?" asked Dean.

"Gabriel," he said, putting the lollipop in his mouth. He looked Dean up and down. "You Cassie's roommate?"

"Please do not call me that," Castiel requested.

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean said, wondering Gabriel would shake his hand too.

He didn't, and said, "Alright, see you around," and left.

Dean made a face to express his confusion. "Huh."

"That's my older brother," said Castiel, who was sitting at his desk now, organizing wires for his laptop. "He's majoring in media studies. Although I use 'majoring' as a loose term. I don't believe he has attended a class in all the time he has been here."

"Hmm."

Dean pulled his textbooks out of the other duffel and piled them haphazardly on his desk. He tossed the pens and notebooks Sam had insisted he bring into a drawer and began pulling his own blanket and pillow out. He threw them up on his bed carelessly and climbed on after, fiddling with his phone.

Determined to befriend his new roommate, Castiel asked him, "If you're not majoring in anything, what classes are you taking?"

"Uh," Dean flipped through his phone until he found his schedule, "I had to take English, umm, auto workshop, intro to business, geography, and… astronomy."

"Interesting choices," remarked Castiel, who sounded genuinely sincere.

Dean looked at him. "Well, what are you taking?"

"English as well, obviously, Ancient History, World Religions, Psychology, and Public Speaking."

"There's a public speaking course?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"Damn. Sounds easy."

"Not necessarily," replied Castiel.

"What? It's just talking. Or does this have something to do with your whole 'not fit to lead' thing?"

"Something along those lines," Castiel answered vaguely.

Dean rolled his eyes. _How rude,_ thought Castiel. But then again, he was supposed to make friends in his time away.

"What's your schedule?" he asked Dean reluctantly, "Maybe we're in the same English class."

"Why's that so important?" Dean scoffed.

Castiel hesitated. "Because I hoped we could become friends."

Dean looked at him. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. "We'll be friends, Cas," he said gruffly, and checked his schedule. "My class is on Thursdays at 9. You?"

"The same time," he replied, "Is your professor Mr. Keller?"

"Uh-huh."

"I guess we're in the same class."

"Hope he's an easy marker."

Castiel chuckled. "You should hope Dean, that he is accepting of a student that would forgo learning for less work."

"Damn straight," Dean replied, "I already speak English, don't I?"

"Well, the class is tomorrow," said Cas, "You should do the reading beforehand." As if to demonstrate, he picked up his textbook and began reading.

"They're not gonna care, Cas," said Dean lazily.

"We'll see," was all Cas said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: First Impressions**

As the door to the lecture hall slammed unceremoniously, Cas supposed they did see. As Keller resumed lecturing, Castiel mutely watched the door, worried about his newfound friend.

Dean stormed back to his room. He flung his backpack across the room, and in a fit of rage, swept everything off of his desk.

Pulling the bottle of whiskey from where not even Cas knew it existed, Dean took a deep drink and wallowed in his progressively darker and darker thoughts.

_What was I thinking?_ he wondered, shaking his head, _I don't belong in college, I barely made my way through high school. Sammy's got a point, I'm better working with my hands, not doing this book crap._

He shook his head again and drank again.

By the time class let out and Castiel had returned, Dean's sour mood had worsened and a significant portion of the bottle was gone.

"Dean?" he asked, craning his neck to see above the wooden slats on the side of Dean's bunk.

"What, Cas?" asks Dean, his deep voice gruffer than usual.

"Are you drunk?"

"Barely buzzed."

"Dean, you're underage."

"So?"

"What if you get caught?"

"Are you gonna run to the RA and tattle on me?"

"No…"

"Then I'm not gonna get caught."

"I might if you don't stop."

"Jesus Christ, are you my mother?"

"No."

Dean pushed his fingers against the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Then stop going all mother hen, I'm fine."

Castiel paused and considered. "No, you're not."

"Cas-"

"You got kicked out of class Dean, on your first day."

"Only cause that sonofabitch was a…. sonofabitch."

"Dean!"

"What?"

"Is this your pattern? Get drunk rather than confront the problem?"

"Didja call Sammy or somthing? Did he tell you to do all this touchy-feely crap?"

Castiel felt frustrated. "I didn't need to be told, Dean. You need to tell me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean exclaimed, now angry.

"I've read my psychology textbook-" Castiel started.

"Oh, God."

"-and I think that you need to talk about what's bothering you."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this," he muttered, but Castiel snatched the bottle away.

"Dean, stop," he insisted.

"Why do you care?" Dean shouted, "We met yesterday and you're acting like we're best friends all of a sudden! This isn't a damn movie!"

Castiel blinked, hurt. Without another word, he picked up one of his textbooks and climbed into his bunk, reading.

"Finally," muttered Dean, collapsing sideways on his bed.

Dean woke up at around 4 in the afternoon, his head pounding. He sat up, groaning with pain. Across the room, on his own bunk, Castiel was reading a textbook with a blank face.

Dean groaned, partly from the offensively bright ceiling light and partly from the memory of his outburst. He felt the the pain throb audibly.

With a certain degree of reluctance, he climbed to the ground. He cursed bunk beds and their nature the whole while. He rifled through his desk drawer before he finally found the pain medication.

"I think I owe you an apology," he said to Castel, who thus far hadn't looked away from his textbook.

Castiel didn't respond. He merely turned a page.

"Come on, Cas," Dean groaned, waiting for the pain medicine to kick in.

Castiel looked at him coldly. "You humiliated yourself in front of a hundred peers, got kicked out of class on the first day, and verbally assaulted me when I attempted to help you. Don't you care at all?"

"Look, man, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled." There was a pause. "Better now?"

Castiel glared. "What are you going to do about the class?" he asked.

"I dunno," shrugged Dean, "I mean, is it worth taking? I might as well drop it."

"Cowardly choice," remarked Castiel.

Dean forced himself not to get angry again. "Well, what else can I do? Keller won't let me back into class."

"He will if you apologise to him," Castiel answered, closing his textbook and giving Dean his undivided attention.

"No," said Dean flatly.

"So you're going to start your new chance drinking away a petty error and hiding from confrontation?"

"Hey! I got no problem with confrontation!"

Castiel gave him a look that plainly said, _Then what's your problem?_

"Dammit, Cas," Dean growled, "I don't want to."

Castiel didn't reply.

Dean climbed back onto his bed, when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Sam. Nothing major, just a simple, "How's college life" sorta thing.

"Godammit." What would Sam say if he dropped out after one day? He jumped to the ground again scooped up his bag, and was about to leave when he looked back to Castiel. The guy had started reading again, but had glanced up to see Dean leaving.

"Want me to come?" he offered.

"Yeah," said Dean, relieved, "Well, just cause I don't know where his office is."

"Of course, Dean," replied Castiel with a faint smirk, climbing off his bed and leading him out of the dorm.

Professor Keller was looking over a lesson plan when the freshman who disrupted his 9 o'clock lecture knocked on the door.

"Yes?" he asked. His tone was not welcoming.

"Professor Keller?" asked Dean.

"Come in or leave, don't hover," was the impatient reply.

"Er, sorry," said Dean. He looked over his shoulder. Castiel was waiting for him down the hall. A couple steps brought him in front of the irate professor.

"Do you have something to say?" he asked emotionlessly.

"Um, yeah, I do," Dean answered easily. Him and Castiel had discussed this on the walk here. "I wanna say that, uh, I got pretty mad today in class. Maybe said some stuff I shouldn't have. And… I'm sorry."

Keller opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off before he could say anything in response, "But you're still a dick for kicking me out."

"You-" started Keller, raising a finger, but Dean continued recklessly.

"So what, I didn't do the readings. It doesn't make me an 18-year-old slack-off like you said. I ain't here for kicks."

Keller didn't answer, he just folded his arms and looked at Dean critically.

"So yeah," Dean finished, "Maybe I screwed up. But you're not innocent either, and I don't like how you sit on some goddamn pedestal thinking you're better than everyone."

Keller waited a moment, reclining in his highly expensive office chair. When it was apparent Dean was done ranting, he spoke, "As far as apologies go, you have a lot to learn."

Dean opened his mouth, but it was Keller's turn to cut him off, "But you have a valid point."

There was a moment of tense silence. "I expect you to be in class next week, fully caught up, no excuses, no exceptions. Is that clear?"

The last question was such a harsh command that Dean jumped. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good. Now be on your way." As Dean turned to leave, Keller asked him, "What did you say your name was?"

"Dean, Dean Winchester."

"You called him a what?!"

Castiel's expression of complete and utter shock made Dean laugh even harder. "I'm serious!"

"And he didn't say anything?"

"He said, hm-hm, that I had a valid point."

Castiel stared at him.

"What? I was in that class for ten minutes and I knew everyone was thinking it."

"I don't think insulting a professor was wise, Dean."

"It paid off, didn't it? Hey, where's my whiskey?"

"I drained it."

"Down the sink!?"

"Yes Dean. You're still underage, and if you were caught with liquor in your room-"

"Nobody would care Cas. Jesus, you don't get out much, do you?"

"I don't need to."

"Yeah, right. Come on, buddy. Tomorrow night, you're coming with me to a party."

"No."

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Party Time!**

It was Friday, the party was starting, and Castiel was digging his feet into the woolen carpet he had brought to the dorm.

"Come on, Cas," begged Dean, "What's the worst that could happen?"

"We could make unreasonable choices under the influence of alcohol," Castiel answered seriously, "We could become lost on our way to our destination, and given the darkness, mugged on our return."

"We're not gonna get mugged. You're a big guy, Cas, no one's gonna pick on you."

"I still don't care to attend." Castiel insisted.

"Come on, buddy. How about this, how about this; We go, alright? You have at least one drink. Then, after an hour, if you're not having a good time, you can leave. Sound good?"

Castiel nodded reluctantly. With a jubilant 'alright!' and a clap on the shoulder, Dean led him out of the dorm.

Because neither Dean nor Castiel had a car, they walked off campus towards the nearby housing development. A business major called Fergus was hosting, and the music could be heard up and down the street.

As soon as Dean arrived, a dozen people greeted him and he was swept into the crowd. Castiel stood awkwardly to the side as everybody talked over the throbbing music.

"Who are you?" half-shouted a voice at his shoulder.

Castiel turned to see a woman almost smirking up at him. She had long brown hair, and was a couple inches shorter than he was. "My name is Castiel," he said, raising his voice so she could hear.

"Have you had a drink yet, Clarence?"

"It's Castiel," he repeated, a little louder. She laughed. Maybe Clarence was a nickname? Like Cas? "No, I haven't had a drink. But I promised my roommate I would and that I'd stay an hour."

"Ooh, a whole hour?" she asked, teasing, "He lets you loose that long?"

"I agree to attempt socialisation for that long," Castiel corrected.

"Well you're doin' a great job," she answered, and it's impossible to tell if she's being condescending or sarcastic.

"Thank you," Castiel responded anyway. He turned to face her. "What is your name?"

"Meg," she said, "So, are you gonna get me a drink, Clarence?"

"I don't, uh, know where they are," Castiel confessed, looking around, as if a neon sign with helpful directions might appear.

"Kitchen," she is her answer, and she followed him as he tried to push his way through the crowd.

It was very difficult. Most people were thrashing and gyrating with the music, the rest were too engrossed in their intoxicated conversations to notice Castiel trying to undertake the near impossible task of move past them and stay polite while doing so. In spite of his difficulty, he did manage to catch sight of Dean, who was talking to a girl and drinking.

But Dean didn't see him, his attention was fixated on the young woman in front of him, who was very thin with brown hair. He couldn't see her face from this angle, but Dean was grinning as he spoke.

And then Castiel managed to push his way into the kitchen, which was equally crowded. Everyone was holding red disposable cups and drinking, but there was no apparent source of alcohol.

"Here," said Meg, appearing at his shoulder and holding two cups full of beer.

"Thank you," said Castiel in relief, taking one. Meg watched curiously as he sipped at the foamy liquid.

Castiel gagged at the flavour. Meg laughed out loud. "Not your taste, eh Clarence?"

"No," he agreed, making a face. But he took a much larger swallow, hoping to get it over with.

"Are you in a hurry?" Meg asked, also drinking.

"I'm hoping to leave once I finish," Castiel confessed, "I do not like it here."

"Its been an hour already?" she mock-whined.

"It will be once I make my way to the door," Castiel said wittily.

Meg laughed, and Castiel did too. "Well, if this scene is so bad, maybe you and I can find someplace quieter."

"Uh," said Castiel intelligently. Meg was peering up at him, making him uncomfortable, "Maybe another time."

There was an awkward pause while the music pulsed around them. Meg nodded, calculating. "Well then," she said, taking a step closer and reaching into the pocket of his jeans, "You'd better text me."

"I-" started Castiel, but she had pulled out his phone and was adding herself as a contact. She tilted her head up at him as she replaced the phone in his pocket, for a fraction of a second, there was the smallest gap between their lips. All Castiel had to do was lean forward and…

"See you around, Clarence," Meg said with a wave, and disappeared into the crowd.

Castiel shook his head. It was the effects of the alcohol, and he stared into his cup. Wrestling his way to the sink, he poured out the remaining liquid and tossed the cup into the trash.

Once again, he steels himself to make his way through the crowd of people between him and the door. He squeezed past a couple grinding to the pounding beat, only to find himself pushed into a stranger, spilling his drink.

"Sorry," he muttered, wiping himself off.

The man he'd run into, a tall, scrawny guy with a scruffy goatee turned around, scowling. "You'd better watch yourself," he said in a low voice, with almost a hint of threat. Castiel glared at him stupidly, unafraid.

"Leave him, Alister," called Dean from nearby.

Castiel regained his senses and hurried along, not looking back. Nobody made any move to stop him. Soon, he had picked his way out of the crowd and managed to leave.

As soon as the door shut behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. The music was much quieter out here, and there are fewer people, just a handful milling about. Castiel made his way down the street and back towards his dorm.

Night had long since fallen, and the only source of light came from the streetlamps. Castiel put his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster. Fortunately, the familiar college building and residence quickly swam into view.

Once he reached his dorm, Castiel quickly changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. He fell asleep instantly, even though it was 10 o'clock.

Sometime around 1 in the morning, however, he woke up to the sound of Dean stumbling in, completely drunk. He didn't say a word as Dean mumbled a stream of profanities when he fell, he didn't react when he vomited into the garbage can, and he didn't move a muscle when Dean crawled into the wrong bunk entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Morning, Sweetheart**

Dean woke up with a hangover. His head pounded before he even opened his eyes. What the hell had happened last night?

He cracked his eyes open a fraction and found that he was laying face down on a single bed. with one arm draped over someone.

The light was offensive, he shut his eyes again.

How much had he drank last night? Sure he had been chatting up that one girl, what was her name, Betty, Bea, Becca, but she was also a bit bitchy for his liking. And if he had slept with her, surely he'd remember it?

"Good morning, Dean," said a deep voice so familiar that Dean jumped about a foot, opening his eyes wide.

Castiel was laying on his back, squished against the wall, hands folded over his stomach. He stared at Dean, apparently not caring that at some point that his roommate had all but climbed on top of him during the night.

"What the hell, man!?" yelled Dean, scrambling away. His head pounded, and making him nauseous. Castiel's expression didn't change, he merely sat up against the wall. His head almost brushed the ceiling. "What the hell?!"

"You were intoxicated," Castiel said evenly.

"So you decided to climb in bed with me?! Friggin pervert!"

"Dean," said Castiel, flinching at the accusation, "_You_ climbed into _my _bed last night. Don't you remember?"

"Well I-" Dean started, but he broke off remembering the slightly more important predicament than his drunken memory. God, his head hurt. "Well why didn't you shove me off or wake me up?"

Despite Dean's furious tone and erratic gestures, it was a valid question. "I don't know," Castiel admitted. "It was late, and I was too tired to do anything about it."

Dean's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to choke out, "Dude, do you know how _gay_ that makes you sound?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed, but Dean didn't care. He retorted sharply, "If you had a problem with sexuality and appearance, you shouldn't have fallen asleep cuddling another man."

Dean only froze for a second. He then leaned forward, shoved Castiel, hard, and jumped from the bed. Castiel's head clunked loudly against the wall, but Dean had already stormed out. The door closed with a bang that he instantly regretted, albeit for selfish reasons.

It wasn't _cuddling_. God, and even if it was, could he really be blamed? There's only so much space on those bunks, what was he supposed to do, squish himself against the wall like Cas had? God friggin dammit!

Dean stumbled into the washroom, head pounding. He splashed cold water on his face. What happened last night? He had a decent bruise on his left cheek.

He remembered reassuring Cas, dragging him along to, whose house again? Fergus, right. Fergus Crowley, that Business major he'd met the other day. He'd arrived, had a couple drinking, and started talking to this really hot chick… Bela! That was it. She had been flirty, and he had flirted back until…. something happened.

It was a fight, right? Something violent. Oh, right, Alister, the guy with the football scholarship had been ready to pull some poor sap apart, and Dean had stopped him, that was right. Wait a minute, hadn't that been Cas? Wierd. And afterwards, Alister had gotten all up in his face for playing nursemaid to some freak, and they had gotten into it.

That must have been where the bruise had come from. But what then? Someone had broken them apart. Was that Crowley?

They had brushed it off, and Dean had gone back to chatting with Bela. She seemed disinterested, though, like… he didn't know. So he had found someone else to chat with, some guy, Ben? Benny? They had drank themselves stupid, and then… it was a blank. He didn't even remember coming back to the dorm.

After splashing some more water on his face and drying himself, Dean went back to the dorm. He figured he should probably apologise to Castiel or something. But the room was empty. It was Saturday, there were no classes, so where had Castiel gone?

His phone was on the floor, he must have dropped it last night. Lucky it wasn't broken. He checked his messages, at least this time he hadn't tried to text while drunk, which was a small mercy. He'd never forgotten the Lilith incident in high school. Pulling up Cas's number, he texted, _where r u?_

It took Cas an age and a half to answer, in which time Dean showered, took some medication for his hangover, and changed into a fresh shirt (one that didn't smell like beer. While he doubted he'd get in trouble for underage drinking, he didn't exactly want to flaunt it either.)

When Dean's phone finally buzzed again, he was filled with brief hope, followed by disappointment.

_I don't care to speak to you._

_jeez cas, i wanna say sry_

…_._

_betr to say it to yr fce, rght?_

…

_where r u?_

_I'm at the Library, Dean. I'm studying._

Dean pocketed his phone and left the dorm. Down the hall, down the street, into the massive library building.

It took a little longer than Dean expected to find Cas. The library was 5 floors high, a maze (to Dean) of shelves, computers, and study rooms. More than once, his still-present headache and irritation almost made him give up. Out of sheer stubbornness, he refused to text Cas and ask him to narrow it down.

So, it was twenty minutes later when he found Castiel, studying alone in the corner. Dean sat opposite him.

"Hey."

"I don't care to speak to you, Dean," said Castiel coldly.

"Look man," Dean started, "I screwed up, alright?"

No response.

"I shouldn't have freaked out on you. You didn't really do anything wrong. It's just weird."

"Is this your attempt at an apology, or are you still going to call me a dick?"

Dean scowled, "Dude, I'm trying."

Castiel glared at him. "I have allowed you to manipulate me into attending that party. I have tolerated your drunken behaviour, and I have yet to report your physical assault on me this morning." His already deep voice dropped threateningly as he growled, "_Try harder_."

Dean felt embarrassed, and glanced to the side of Cas's head. It was impossible to see under the mess of dark hair, but more likely than not a bruise had formed.

"Look, I messed up. I shouldn't have freaked out like I did." _But what did you expect? Me to snuggle up and say 'good morning?'. _"I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Dean," said Castiel.

"Your head alright?"

"It'll heal," was the response.

"Jesus, I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"You know what? Hit me back."

"What?"

"Come on!" Dean mimed punching his own jaw. "Hit me! I can take it."

Cas sighed, "Dean."

"Come on!" Dean insisted, a little louder.

"We're in the library," hissed Castiel, "And it looks like someone beat me to it."

"No pun intended?"

"What?"

Dean sighed. "Cas, buddy, just hit me."

Cas shut his book with unnecessary force and stood up. Dean felt a moment of fear as he walked around the table. Cas grabbed his collar and raised his fist with such precision that Dean knew damn well he could knock the stuffing out of him easily.

There was a tense moment. Dean shut his eyes and looked away, waiting for the inevitable blow.

"Don't underestimate me," Castiel growled. "Just because I don't fight doesn't mean I can't."

"I got it," said Dean, cracking one eye open, "Are you going to hit me or not?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and let him go.

Dean chuckled to himself. Could have been worse.


End file.
